


Unorthodox Methods of Observation

by Arrestzelle



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Glory Hole, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 11:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4099179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a desire to learn of everything regarding the human body and psyche, Ruben has yet to study the more carnal side of human nature. So he occasionally visits a sex club to observe and take notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unorthodox Methods of Observation

**Author's Note:**

> This is silly, and I'm throwing this on here just because the Ruseb tag lacks severely.

The Internet was useful to Ruben in few ways. Finding suitable programs to help document his research and work, reading up on things he would have difficulty finding in a book, sending cute animal videos to his sister (which he found himself completely unresponsive to, but he did enjoy her laughter and delight), and finding suitable partners to meet up with at the private swingers club he visited only to meet with said partners. 

Well, he didn't consider them “partners”. He considered them subjects. Things to observe, to make mental notes on. Research over the phone or on the Internet proved to be absolutely pointless when Ruben couldn't see, couldn't _observe_. On the Internet, it wasn't raw and natural like what Ruben sought.

Since he was a teenager Ruben has been studying the biology and psyche of humans. All of it was intriguing to him and he wanted to understand every aspect of the human body and mind, so naturally physical attraction and sexual gratification was apart of that. That topic wasn't one he studied deeply on. So now, in his late twenties, it was the only aspect he hasn't really scraped into yet. 

He began his research two weeks ago, observing the function and responses and behavior of a male experiencing pleasure and/or an orgasm. Such a thing was unpleasant when it was personal. When it was face to face, intimate, it was like a sour taste on his tongue. 

Anonymity was typically hard to maintain when it was in the flesh. Ruben wasn't looking for intimacy either, so he considered his options that would give him both separation and anonymity. The answer came after some brief searching on the Internet. 

A hole in a wall. That's all it took and all that Ruben needed for his research.

Finding the right location, a trustworthy place, took some time, but he did come across a local sex club that he would have no trouble paying for entry. So it became a part of his schedule. Every Friday and Saturday, meet his subject at the club and start the observation. 

Ruben would rather not do it himself, but pornography did little to help. It was all fake, scripted. The words, the noises that came forth from the actors and actresses. The movement of their bodies, their expressions. Ruben was thorough with his work.

It was another Saturday and he left the mansion and Laura to attend to his meeting. 

Ruben hadn't even received a name or a picture. They only agreed on the place (not that Ruben would take any other option), the booth which it would be done, and the time. Easy enough. Ruben preferred no other way. Although, he had noted on the man's profile that he was married. A curious thing, but he only arched a brow over it before losing interest. Funny how a life-long commitment can mean nothing to someone with time. 

At the location, Ruben keeps his head lowered, ducking through the back entrance to avoid anyone laying eyes on him. The less people aware of his attendance, the better. He immediately strides for the hallway with the booths, easily ignoring the people and dark wine reds of the carpet and the furniture. 

Silently, he slips into the designated booth. He takes a seat on the cushioned bench and waits, removing his phone to check the time. An hour and a half before midnight. Laura should be in her bath now.

He shoos away the thought of his beloved sister, deciding it was entirely inappropriate to even think of her in this setting. Heavy footfalls suddenly alert him of another person's presence, and he strains his hearing to discover they were heading into the other side of the booth, separated only by a thin wine red wall (which naturally matched the color of the floor and padding of the bench. Why was everything _red_?). Ruben holds his tongue, waiting.

“Uh...10:30?” A hesitant voice speaks. A voice gruff with years of smoking, low with age. Ruben estimated him to be in his late thirties. He never read up much on his subjects. Unnecessary things to take note on. 

Well, this part always made Ruben feel slightly uncomfortable, despite his usual detachment and apathy. He drifts his gloved fingertips across the wide curve of the oval shaped hole, which was rather large for more touching room. Narrowing his eyes, he hears the man swallow, a moment of hesitance. Maybe he was having second thoughts. Reconsidering the upcoming adultery? Ruben was becoming impatient. He never took use of his voice among these kinds of subjects but he knew Laura would be waiting and he loathed to make her wait.

“I believe your penis goes through here,” he wryly says, voice flat.

After a second of pause, he hears a soft snort and when he realized it was laughter, he frowned thinly. Then the telltale sound of metal on metal, the undoing of a belt, placated his annoyance slightly. Finally. 

Thankfully, this man didn't strike up a fascinating conversation with him. He only hesitated a moment longer before doing what he was here to do. As soon as he stepped up, coming into Ruben's view, and slid his long awaited cock through the opening, Ruben removed the condom from his hoodie pocket and ripped it open. Using a condom, naturally, was required. He slipped it on in a detached manner, as if it were like him pulling on latex gloves to prepare for dissecting an animal. 

Much to Ruben's satisfaction, the carpet was clean. He would rather avoid dirtying his expensive slacks. Lowering onto his knees, the action being a rare occasion, he curls gloved fingers around the base of this man's shaft, his pinky and ring fingers resting on the exposed skin above his groin. Flicking his gaze up to his lower belly and groin, he takes brief note on how this man cared not to shave or trim, a common thing with men. The hair carried up to his navel, soon covered by the fabric of his shirt. Ruben tries not to dwell on the fact he thought it looked... attractive. To a degree. He preferred men that didn't bother with disrupting the natural growth of body hair. He spits that thought out from his mind and leans in to take the head into his mouth.

Eyes open, he watches the movement of the man's belly, the curve and heaves of it with his pants. Ruben, focused intently now on his research and observation, reached out to push the man's shirt further up his abdomen, exposing more belly hair and the hard abs of his stomach. So, either this man was in a line of work that required the use of muscles, or he worked out to impress, either himself or others. Ruben cared not for men who liked to show off. Either way, the sight wasn't that bad. Ruben stares with a cool look in his icy blue eyes and taps the bunched up hem of his shirt which he held. 

Luckily for him, he wasn't dealing with an idiot. The man grabs onto his shirt and keeps it pinned there. Ruben takes more of his shaft into his mouth and watches how the subject's stomach ripples with his pants, tightening up with the pleasure that accompanies Ruben firm suction and the drift of his tongue across the sensitive glans. He hears a whispered curse word. Ruben files that away into the folder of pleasure displayed by the use of foul language. His research consisted mostly of percentages. The number of men that were silent or vocal, the number of men that took the lead and thought he could just start thrusting away, the number of men that whispered dirty, meaningless things to Ruben as if he cared to hear them. 

This man seemed to fit the more vocal type. He grunted and gasped with each drift of Ruben's dexterous tongue, gave a low rumbling hum when he began to languidly bob his head. Ruben felt mild confusion when he discovered a heat building in his own face. Maybe his brain was triggered by the appreciative moans and sent a flush to his face. Otherwise he felt indifferent to the crude noises. 

Ruben's jaw ached but he ignored it, his attention focused on the movements of the subject's stomach, the stutter in his breath, the words he uttered, or the lack of words, the shifting or subtle arching of his hips. He was rather demure compared to a lot of them and Ruben supposed it was because he was a married man, still lingering on the sense of hesitation and guilt.

“Fuck, you're so good with your tongue...” The subject growls lowly, momentarily pulling him from his thinking.

Maybe no longer demure. Now, encouraged by the haze of pleasure, he seemed to develop the confidence to speak directly to him. So, he was a talker. Ruben saw that as a negative and folded this man away into the “Do not associate with again” folder. Ruben subconsciously runs his gloved fingers slightly up the man's hairy belly as he delves deeper into his note taking and observation. He shifts on his knees, a restlessness he is not familiar with. Nor is he personally familiar with the pleasant heat burning through his skin. Metaphorically speaking. 

He did recognize it as arousal, a bodily feeling he did not care to tend to when the rare occurrence appeared. Why it flared up now, he knew the reason why, but did not understand how he himself could be encouraged by it. This wasn't particularly enjoyable to him. Maybe it's because of his single thought earlier, that this man's body wasn't that awful to look at. At least, as much as he could see through the wide opening.

A sudden tight grunt coming from his subject pulls him from his deep thinking. A slight thrust of his hips, a growl of a warning, and then Ruben feels the heat of his ejaculation through the thin latex. Ragged pants come from the subject, his belly heaving under Ruben's gloved hand. How much time had truly passed? Ruben hadn't really kept track, delved in his thoughts. Foolish of him. He typically marked the amount of time. 

Pulling away, he removes the handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and wipes at his mouth with it. He stands as he takes out his small notebook from his back pocket and absentmindedly takes a seat on the bench. Flipping it open, he began to quickly write in his fine handwriting, adding two pages worth of notes. 

It isn't until he hears the man leave that he gracefully puts away the notebook and stands, smoothing out the wrinkles in his waistcoat and slacks. He waits another sixty seconds. That's when he finally notices that there was an odd pressure in his groin, an ache. He only felt such things in his early teenage years. He had an erection. How troublesome. 

Without really considering it, he plucks the subject out of the “Do not associate with again” folder, before exiting the booth and then shortly the building. Donning his red overcoat with his gloved hands nestled in the pockets, he strides up to the sleek Jaguar awaiting his return. 

He'll insert the data into his laptop before saying goodnight to his sister.


End file.
